Do Goths Stare At Clouds?
by SpellboundWinter
Summary: Cloud gazing in a graveyard… Is that even Goth? I'm not sure, but I know Leopold isn't. He's nothing Gothic or dark, not even close. ButtersxHenrietta and hints of MichaelxHenrietta. One-shot.


**ButtersxHenrietta and hints of MichaelxHenrietta.**

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><p>Do Goths stare at clouds?<p>

Cloud gazing in a graveyard… Is that even Goth? I'm not sure, but I know Leopold isn't. He's nothing Gothic or dark, not even close.

Excuse me… The one people call 'Butters'. Leopold is his real name but yet everyone calls him that silly conformist name Butters.

But it's not natural to feel this way about a Justin wannabe. This weird feeling… I can only compare it to serpents tightening in my guts. Curling up… coiling around and around tightly.

I've never felt this way before. It's like being on a roller coaster for too long or eating something sickeningly sweet. This feeling inside of me leaves a taste in my mouth… like sidewalk chalk.

It isn't lust or my regular pent-up rage either, it's something much different. Nobody knows about me and Butters and that's how I want it to stay. For a Goth, being this close to a conformist is very conformist on _my_ part.

I would rather cut off my tongue with a rusted butter knife than to undergo anymore useless feelings.

"You see that? That's a guillotine." I lift a purple finger nail, pointing towards a cloud.

Cloud gazing…

It's basically the Rorschach test with the ink blots. It's all about perspective. There are hidden traits that lie within us and it's _mostly_ Freudian bullshit. Naturally, I say something that's dark because I feel dark. At least, that's what I've been telling myself lately.

Fucking conformist is making me doubt myself.

Butters' head rests on the top of bosom as my hand rakes through his seemingly bleached locks. Here we are… stuck in between two tombstones. He's so innocent. So vulnerable. Not feeble but not exactly courageous. He needs me, this I know for a fact.

His eyes look upward, gesturing to another white blob under blue sky. "That's a fluffy puppy." I glance downwards to see that he's grinding his knuckles together and fidgeting. "I really… well, I like puppies. There so cuddly an' cute."

So guiltless, so flighty and alive.

"No way, that's totally a dead cat." I deadpan.

Butters sits up, squinting as if trying to make it out. He was trying to see my perspective. My point of view.

I move onto my side and I secretly admire him. Leopold looks so naïve. He's shiny and new. Like a person who was blind and can now, by miracle, see. Butters sees things that I cannot. He breathes fresh life into things he comes in contact with. He's easily amused and entranced with living, he's truly alive.

And he's all _mine_.

Mine for the corrupting and dirtying, he's wrapped so tight around my finger… he doesn't even know it. It's like from the Looking Glass. He is my sweet, sweet little oyster and I'm the conniving walrus, coaxing him and salivating all the while… Waiting to break his shell over a rock and feast on the squishy insides.

"I don't see no cat Henri…" he tilts his head, giving me a look with his big baby blues. "Ya sure you see a kitty?"

I shift myself upwards, resting on a tombstone. It was quite large and obnoxious. Rich people… even in death they have to be flaunting what they have. Decrepit, I hope they burn eternally with Cthulhu feasting on their innards.

I wrap my shawl tighter around my shoulders. "That kitty in the sky… It reminds me of the Mr. Kitty-Kitty you had as a pet."

"Gee, it wasn't my cat but I… I fed him and loved him a whole lot. My parents don't like animals. I had to beg them for hamsters," Butters chokes up a little. "I wanted to give him a funeral. Poor fella."

I lift out my arms and Butters moves himself into them, I hold him tightly, comfortingly... motherly... lovingly.

"You fed that cat every day, Leopold. I remember when he got run over you cried and cried. Called me up and made me dig a hole in my backyard," I kissed the top of his head, "All because your orange tabby got run down."

Tears brim in his eyes and his bottom lip trembles. "I miss Mr. Kitty-Kitty."

"Yeah, I know," I take a finger and hook it under his turtle necks collar, seeing the yellowish-green patches on his neck. "You need another hicky. These are starting to fade."

"But… my parents are real sore about-"

His eyes go wide as I bring a digit to his lips, shushing him. I grin evilly, grabbing his chin and yanking it towards me. "You gonna listen to your parents or your sweet endearing girlfriend?" I run my tongue over his jaw line and his breath hitches in his throat. "You're all mine Leopold. I'm giving you my mark of approval."

"Are we sure we should be doin' this… uh, over dead people sleeping in the ground?"

I think the shoe is on the other foot. I'm under his charm. I'm wrapped around his little finger and it's true.

But the sad thing is... He's none the wiser. He could use it against me. Abuse me. And yet he's comfortable with the circumstances now.

"I say it's pretty Goth," I yank on the soft sky color fabric of his turtleneck. "Pucker up conformist."

And then he does something.

"Before we start kissin' an' stuff, well, there's somethin' I gotta tell you," He pulls my shoulders back abruptly, stopping me. He glances into my eyes and beams, complete with a conformist blush gracing his cheeks. "I like you Henri. You're always real nice to me." his hands move up and caress the sides of my face. "An' you're really beautiful too! You're real smart and your butt is like puddi-"

And just like that. He does it again.

"Butters," I hide the smile, wiping the corner of my mouth, pretending to fix my lipstick. "Just shut up and kiss me."

"Yes ma'am." He says nervously, puckering up his lips and bite down, dragging my teeth along his bottom lip.

Do Goth's date conformists? I'm not sure. But I know for sure Leopold is no Goth.

My ears perk up, hearing the sound of crunching of snow and a disgruntled, sullen sigh. Cigarette smoke, foreboding sadness... I knew who it was. "What do you think you're doing, Henrietta?"

I break away from Leopold, turning from his frightened look and purple lipstick smeared over his mouth to the people behind me. I crane my head to see Michael and the others. Pete and Firkle looking more upset rather than the curly haired one's blank expression.

"So not cool." Pete flips his fringed hair with a scowl, "I thought you said you were like, at the library taking another shift. And here you are with this... this..."

"Wannabe, Justin conformist." Michael finishes, smoke whisking from his nose like a dragon of sorts.

Looks like my group found out about me...

Goths don't stare at clouds... especially with those called 'Butters'.

"Can't I fool around?" I shoot back, glaring at Michael especially. That asshole acts like he owns me. "I want someone to fuck and corrupt. That's all he is. Would you rather have Leopold's place?"

He doesn't say anything instead his eyes say it all. He feels betrayed. The Goths turn and make their way out of the graveyard. I can hear a loud discussion about where I stand in the group. Pete and Firkle speak vehemently and Michael is quiet. Soon they turn into little spots in the horizon.

I could hear a little gasp and sputter. I glance back to Butters. He looks on the verge of openly sobbing. His face red and eyebrows furrowed. "That's all I am?" the blonde wiggles out of my grasp and gets to his feet, his fist shaking at his sides. "I trusted you, Henri. I'm just a... a f-fuck, huh?"

And before I could say anything, he starts in another direction, storming off.

I'm all alone.

And I guess, I'm really not a Goth after all.


End file.
